


About Face

by ClownBabyx, Lexus (Beautiful_Ruin)



Series: Kinktober 2020 Collabs [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: AND LOVE HER, CO Polastri, Explicit Sex, F/F, Fisting, Kinktober, Military AU, Private Astankova, Some angst, THE BABY JUST WANTS SOMEBODY TO APPROVE OF HER, d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClownBabyx/pseuds/ClownBabyx, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_Ruin/pseuds/Lexus
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Kinktober 2020 Collabs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976941
Comments: 22
Kudos: 131





	About Face

* * *

**ABOUT FACE**

Villanelle is tired. The flight from New York to Virginia, while short, was awful. She spent the entire trip running to and stumbling from the bathroom. Flashes of last night seeping their way through her hazy consciousness. 

Her head buried in between someone’s legs. **_Shot_** . Her hands grabbing at hair and fingers thrusting deep. **_Shot_** . Someone’s fingers against her as her tongue enters someone else. **_Shot_**. 

Not all unpleasant memories. But the alcohol part is becoming very unpleasant. 

Villanelle isn’t usually a drinker. But it was her last day in New York City. Friends took her out, one thing led to another, and she doesn’t remember the entirety of the rest. Just bits and pieces. The very best and very worst pieces. 

Her phone dings at her as she leans against the airplane bathroom door. With a sweaty, shaky hand, she pulls her phone out. 

**Unknown Number** \- “ _Had a great time last night. x Katie”_

Villanelle is assuming it’s one of the girls she fucked last night. Assuming based on the accompanying picture. What she knows is the back of her head between someone else’s thighs. 

**Villanelle** \- “ _Who’s this?_ ”

She knows it’s a dick move. But she’s fucked her once. And now it’s done with. Wipes her hands of it. Literally and figuratively. Villanelle had her fun. 

**Unknown Number** \- “ _Fuck you_.”

 _Too much fun_ , Villanelle thinks. As her phone slides out of her hand, propelling herself forward to be sick. 

*****

Villanelle _barely_ walks off the plane. She thought about crawling at the first row of seats she stumbled by. Which, thanks to her Uncle Konstantin, was the only row of seats she had to pass until reaching the plane exit. First class being a far cry from what Villanelle grew up with in what felt like the back country of Russia. 

After Villanelle’s father passed away suddenly when she was 14, Konstantin took her in. Her mother being a piece of shit alcoholic who beat her with every slip of the tongue, refused to keep her. And Villanelle loved Konstantin. He was a rich business man. Spoiled Villanelle whenever he was around. Which was few and far between.

But Villanelle loved her father more. So, with his passing, Villanelle began to act out. Stealing, fighting, setting a fire here and there. _Small stuff._

Konstantin sent her to boarding school. One of the first small fires she set in her lifetime started there. In the girls’ dormitory. After a straight girl crush turned to hatred.

Villanelle vowed then and there that a goal of hers was to fuck any straight girl that would let her. And she did. And many of them didn’t just let her. They begged her for it. 

After boarding school, Konstantin moved them to NYC for his work. Villanelle soon finding herself a citizen of the greatest country in the world - The United States of America.

Villanelle thought she would thrive in NYC. She met friends and women easily enough. Had her fun while it lasted. Until she couldn’t manage to get a job. Even at local coffee shops. She had been in trouble, arrested too many times. She was young, mouthy, resorted to her fists more often than not. In inappropriate situations. And Konstantin wouldn’t support her forever. 

So, she’s found herself here. A 27 year old with what she thinks is too high of an IQ to be where she is now. A delinquent forced into the Army due to unemployment. In a place called Virginia. Which sounds awful in her head and even worse rolling off the tip of her tongue. By some miracle, surviving and completing boot camp. And not by any miracle really. But by fucking another straight girl into submission. Her superior, Helene. After feeling Villanelle’s tongue against her, she was sent through with flying colors. 

And when Villanelle steps through the sliding glass doors of the airport and into the heat of what she now knows is going to be a hell hole, this _Virginia_ , she wishes she could turn back time. 

*****

Eve is tired. She’s really just… tired. She prays this new batch of privates will be on the ball and not need much from her, because, well, she’s tired. She hasn’t always been like this. Three years ago, two years ago, hell even one year ago she’d had so much more energy. A wild spirit, really.

But then Gemma had happened. Niko working long hours that made no sense for a teacher. Strange smells. Women’s lipstick smudged on his boxers. It hadn’t been hard to figure out he was cheating.

It wasn’t her proudest moment, but--oh who was she kidding? She’s still proud as shit. She’d fucked Gemma in a bathroom stall and hand delivered the woman’s panties to Niko along with divorce papers.

Being proud as shit doesn’t mean it didn’t take a lot out of her, though. Her ability to trust was shot. Her self-worth took a beating. She doesn’t feel attractive enough; sexy enough; interesting enough. She hasn’t even tried dating. She’s barely even had any one-night stands since that night with Gemma.

She’d thrown herself into work. Overtime, nights, weekends. Anything to keep her mind off of her personal life or lack thereof.

And now, after overtime, nights and weekends for an entire year, she’s fucking tired. So these recruits had better be top of the line or she’s sending them back.

******

Villanelle sits in her Uber. She may have to ask the driver to drag her out kicking and screaming. Because her legs feel heavy, and her heart feels even heavier, as they pull up and her eyes land on what would be called _home_. If home consists of what she can only imagine as being buildings covered from floor to ceiling in wood paneling. The thought of it makes her cringe. And feel sick.

That may still be the alcohol.

She steps out, grabs her bags, and as soon as she shuts the door, bowls over sick at her feet. Again. She has to fling her bags to the side to protect them from herself.

She closes her eyes. Balancing herself with her hands on her knees as she leans over her feet. Hoping that when she opens her eyes, she’ll be back in NYC. Back in NYC, sick on the side of a busy street in front of everyone, instead of the muddy, dirt grounds of the base that makes her feel utterly alone. 

A voice snaps her from her hopeful thoughts.

“That scared, huh?”

Villanelle wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand and leans up. Slowly. To meet the eyes of another woman. Standing there. Bags over her shoulders.

Villanelle looks her up and down. Short, dark hair. Lean muscle. About her own height. Nice, round, probably extremely firm tits. Wedding ring. **_Bingo_**.

No matter how sick Villanelle feels right now, she wants to bend this woman to her will. “Fun night last night. That’s all.”

The woman laughs, bends down carefully, as to not get any closer to Villanelle’s mess, and grabs at one of Villanelle’s bags to hand it to her.

“Thanks. I’m Villanelle.”

And Villanelle sees the way the woman looks at her. Sees confusion flicker across her eyes as she finds herself lingering far too long on the sight of Villanelle. **_Bingo again._**

“Ashleigh. Where are you headed now?”

Villanelle picks up and slings her other bags over her shoulders. “To check in. You?”

“Same.” Ashleigh smiles and begins to walk.

Villanelle walks in the same direction. Letting Ashleigh walk slightly ahead at first to appreciate the sight. 

Ashleigh turns to glance at Villanelle over her shoulder. “Maybe we’ll be bunked together.”

Villanelle smiles sweetly and picks up her pace to catch Ashleigh. But her thoughts are absolutely devilish as she glances down to the ring on Ashleigh’s finger. “That would be nice.”

******

**2 hours later…**

“Didn’t you say you were married?”

Villanelle runs her tongue up one of Ashleigh’s bare thighs. Feeling the heat beneath her lips and the heat from Ashleigh’s center radiate against her cheek as she approaches. 

Ashleigh’s voice is unsteady as she speaks. “Yes. But, unhappily.”

Villanelle laughs against her thigh. “Mhmm. I feel bad for him.”

Villanelle ghosts her mouth over her lips, sending the tip of her tongue barely inside to graze teasingly at where Ashleigh wants it. Pulling her mouth away when Ashleigh bucks her hips and whines at the feeling. She moves her mouth to bite into the supple flesh of her neglected thigh instead. Eliciting a hiss from above her.

“Why?”

Villanelle loosens the grip of her jaw and runs a hand up the outside of Ashleigh’s leg. Gripping it and tossing it over her right shoulder. She looks up at Ashleigh from in between her thighs. Her mouth inching closer to where Ashleigh needs it. Her hot breath sends noticeable goosebumps along the leg that Villanelle grips at. 

“Because I doubt he’s ever heard the noises I’m about to pull out of you.”

And when Ashleigh gasps her name, Villanelle feels at home.

*****

 _Astankova, Oksana_. First on the list. Goes by _Villanelle_.

Already Eve is skeptical. What sort of a name is _Villanelle_? She wonders if she should even allow it. This is the army, not design school. Maybe she’s just being an ass. She hasn’t even met the woman and she’s already finding something to pick on. Not cool, Eve. She takes a breath to cleanse herself of her control-freak thoughts, knocks on the door, and enters Private Astankova’s dormitory.

And promptly drops her clipboard. “What the fuck?”

Villanelle hears the door open and really can’t be bothered, but Ashleigh scrambles away, leaving her tongue with nothing to lick. Sad. People should really wait for an answer after they knock. You never know what you’re going to walk in on. This is not her fault.

She slowly turns her head… then wishes she hadn’t. Not because this is obviously her CO, but because this woman is… is like something directly out of one of her dreams. And here she is, naked, kneeling on the floor, bent over her bed, her top half propped up on her elbows. Which would be fine, if this woman was going to join them. Clearly she is _not_. In fact, by the time Villanelle’s eyes reach the woman’s face again - yes, they’d dropped down to chest level, but really, she’s gay, so… - there is outright anger simmering in dark eyes.

Her mouth quirks up on one side. “Oops.”

Eve is furious. _Furious_. This is not what she wants to deal with on the first fucking day. She snatches up her clipboard and snaps out an order. “Get dressed and report to my office. Now.” And she leaves, slamming the door. She knows she shouldn’t stomp around like a scorned lover, but honestly… she’s done already and this round just started.

*****

“I shouldn’t have done this,” Ashleigh complains, starting to pull on clothing.

Villanelle tries to stop her, to get her back to bed, but apparently the appearance of their CO has evaporated her charm, because she is unsuccessful no matter what she says or does. She finally gives up with an exasperated sigh and gets dressed. This is just another reason she doesn’t want to be here.

Ashleigh won’t even speak to her now when she tries to make small talk on the way to the CO’s office, and instead of the feeling of being at home she’d so briefly glimpsed, now she feels utterly alone again.

They reach the office and the door is open, so she just walks in.

Eve looks up sharply, eyes wide. “Get out and knock,” she snarls. _God, the nerve of this woman._

Villanelle pins her with a disgusted look, but exits back through the OPEN door and knocks. Loudly. “Heeeeey, can I come in? You summoned me, boss?”

Oh for fuck’s--Eve feels a headache coming on. “Come in.” When the women come in, she looks them over. Of course the cheeky one isn’t in uniform. “What are you wearing?”

Villanelle squints up at the fluorescent lighting. “Hm. It doesn’t seem too dark in here to see…”

Eve is on her feet and around the desk, not giving two shits that she’s about three inches shorter than this baby of a girl, and gets right in her face. “Go get your fucking uniform on and report back here before I send you to clean the latrines!”

******

Villanelle walks back to her dorm. Alone. Ashleigh stayed behind to talk to their CO. And Villanelle can only pray that she isn’t kicked out for this. She would have nowhere to go. Konstantin would disown her for this. He’d been threatening to do it for a while. He has a soft heart, but this was her last chance. She shoves her hands in her pockets at the thought of it, clenching the fabric inside of them tightly. 

_“Go get your fucking uniform on…”_

It rings in her head. And her CO’s look of disgust when she looked at Villanelle. She’s seen that look so many times. It shouldn’t be a surprise. So, she acted like she normally does. Confident. Smug as fuck. Cocky. A little turned on. 

And then she feels it. One drop of wet hits at the top of her head. She stops to touch her fingers to her damp hair. Pulls them back to survey the damage. 

_Oh, thank god. It’s only a little rain._

The rain starts to fall softly around her. Villanelle takes her hands out of her pockets to feel it against her palms. She sticks her tongue out like a child. Gathering rain on the tip of her tongue. She’s always loved the rain. Makes her feel like a kid again. Before she started setting fire to everything she touched. 

As soon as her eyes slip shut at the feeling, a crack rolls out from the sky. Her eyes snap open to see the rain as pellets. Stinging at her face. Almost blistering. Falling like a monsoon. “Fuck me.” She starts back towards her dorm. Pitiful in her pace. Only the briefest moments of peace, shattered in seconds. 

The ground is already muddy by the time she gets back to her building. Tracking mud through the halls. Making sure to drag her feet heavily in spite. Smearing the mud she’s gathered on the bottom of her shoes. Wanting to trace her foot in the spelling of ‘ _Fuck this place_.’ With love. In mud. 

Villanelle is half dressed when she hears the door to her dorm open. Her uniform pants are barely on. Not yet zipped or buckled. Her boots sit loosely on her feet. Boot strings trailing the ground. She has her jacket half buttoned when she turns to see Ashleigh. Wet from the rain. Looking just as pitiful as Villanelle knows she does. 

“Come to not talk to me some more?”

Ashleigh approaches her quickly and shoves her against the closet door. Villanelle’s back hits with a thud.

“Ouch. What the fuck?”

Ashleigh points a finger in her face. Two fingers down, the gleam of her wedding ring is almost blinding. Villanelle wonders if it blinds her now too. “I was just yelled at. Cussed out. Because of you.”

Villanelle slaps her finger away and tries to put herself together. A loud zip tries to cut through the tension as she zips up her pants. “Oh, fuck off. I didn’t even have time to make you come and you’re already getting your feelings hurt?” She presses herself off of the door only to be pressed right back to it. 

Ashleigh’s voice cracks when she speaks. “I shouldn’t have.”

Villanelle grabs her wrists and flips their positions. Ashleigh yelps as she’s pressed into the door in her place. Villanelle leans into her. Pins her wrists above her head. Her voice cuts like a knife. “Is this what you’re going to do? You want me to fuck you, and then you complain to me about how bad you feel about it? How we shouldn’t do it? Grow up. You wanted it. I wanted it. It’s just sex. Do you want me to fuck you now or not?”

Villanelle sees the resolve crumble in Ashleigh's eyes. The whine in her throat also gives her away.

She lets Ashleigh’s wrists go and moves her hands to rest at the belt of her uniform. She unbuckles her slowly. Teasingly. “I have 10 minutes. I have to go talk to our lovely CO. Do you want me to make you come here or on the bed?”

Ashleigh gulps audibly and then throws her head back against the door, her gulp turning into a low moan as Villanelle’s hand dips between her skin and the waistband of her underwear.

 _Fuck, she’s so wet. It’s so warm._

Villanelle is cold and wet from the rain. And, again, this feeling feels like the warmth of a home. A familiar feeling. She feels Ashleigh’s thighs tremble around her hand.

Villanelle can barely make out her words when she speaks. “Here.”

*****

Eve watches the clock as she raps her knuckles against her desk. Almost 1 full hour since she told Oksana to change into her uniform and meet back here.

As soon as Eve decides to call it, to write her up, she hears running footsteps approach her office.

Oksana skids to a halt in her doorway. Leans down to put her hands on her knees. Gasping for breath. She’s soaking wet. Her uniform is disheveled.

Eve can't help but grind her teeth at the sight of her. “Is this a joke?”

Oksana holds a finger up as if to tell Eve to _give her a second_.

She’s obviously sprinted here. Trying to catch her breath. And really the run would’ve been under 3 minutes long. All around, Oksana is not impressive. She’s crass, sarcastic, lazy, and obviously out of shape. 

When Oksana finally rises, she’s a smart ass immediately. She knocks dramatically at Eve’s office door with her knuckles. “Can I come in, boss?”

Eve glances at the window in her office. Wishing she were on the third floor. So she could throw herself out of it.

She’s snapped out of her beautiful daydream when Oksana coughs loudly. Still catching up to her lungs. Her eyes regretfully make their way back to her doorway. “Sit. Down.”

She watches as Oksana takes a seat in front of her. Her clothes are dripping wet. Her hair is matted to her face. Eve glances at the doorway and sees that she’s also tracked mud into her office. 

_God, help me._

“I just got done with your roommate.”

Oksana laughs. “Me too.”

“So, Oksana Astankova. I’ve heard--” Eve’s cut off suddenly by Oksana’s scratchy voice.

“Villanelle. My name is Villanelle.”

Eve laughs. And she can’t help it. She throws her hand over her mouth as if the covering of her lips would take her laugh back. 

Oksana glares across the desk at her. 

“I’m sorry. But I’m not calling you that. And I really don’t need to know your first name. You’ll be called Private Astankova. The title you deserve.”

Oksana leans back in her chair lazily. Throwing her ankle over to rest on her knee that bounces up and down. “I’m good with that title.” She leans in, squints her eyes as she tries to focus in on something. Her eyes land on Eve’s chest. Eve leans back instinctively. “Pastrami? CO Pastrami?”

Eve grits her teeth. “It’s Polastri.”

Oksana smacks her lips and leans back again. “Pastrami sounds better. Then again, I’m very hungry. Enough that I’m seeing food in letters, CO Polastri.” And the way Eve’s name rolls off of Oksana’s tongue makes her shift in her chair uncomfortably.

Eve clears her throat. “As I was saying, I’ve heard good things about you. From another officer…” She reaches for Oksana’s file. Flipping to her letter of recommendation. “A Helene?”

Oksana’s laugh makes Eve jump in her chair. “Oh. Yes. Helene. She was wonderful.”

And it clicks. Seeing Oksana on her knees earlier. Her head between someone’s thighs. Someone she just met. Her lips glistening, her eyes wide in surprise. Helene’s glowing recommendation. It clicks. 

She sets the recommendation to the side. “There are rules here, Private.”

Oksana blows a raspberry into the air. “I know.”

“Are you going to follow them? Or are we going to have a problem? I can make your life here difficult.”

Oksana’s eyes soften all of a sudden. Her glare turns into a wide eyed look. Is it horror? Fear? Elation? Eve can’t tell. But her eyes are wide enough that Eve can notice their color. Green. Gold. Grey. Her irises speckled in complementary colors. 

Oksana sits up straight. Opens her mouth to speak, and then closes it in what looks like defeat. It's as if she is battling against herself. 

_I must have gotten to her_ , Eve thinks. And she hears the words she loves. Her chest always flutters when she hears these 4 sweet words come together in a sweeter sentence.

“I’ll follow the rules.”

*****

“It’s raining.”

Eve snorts. “This is the army, Private. We don’t recognize rain. Get out there and do your laps.”

Villanelle growls; somehow expects CO Polastri to cower even though she knows how illogical it would be. Very illogical, it turns out, because CO Polastri takes a step toward her, and rather than find out what is coming next, she does her best not to slip in the mud as she takes off running.

 _Goddamn fucking stupid Ashleigh_ , she thinks as she runs. And runs. And runs. She’s out of breath after half a lap and she’s still got nine and a half to go. She’s not going to make it.

When she stops for a breather, her CO blows a whistle. “Are you serious?!” she shouts across the empty field, rain pelting her in the face as she starts running again. Her only consolation is that her CO looks just as miserable and just as drenched.

She slips in the mud more times than she cares to admit and she only makes it five laps before she collapses at her CO’s feet, ready for an emergency room trip.

But instead of calling her an ambulance, CO Polastri hauls her to her feet by the back of her collar. “If you can’t handle the fallout, you can’t handle the sex. Five more laps, and if you stop again it’ll be five more.”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, you know that?!” Villanelle screams in the asshole’s face.

“GO!” CO Polastri screams right back.

She’s so angry and tired and she’s really having trouble breathing, and it’s still raining, and she’s covered in mud, and she bursts into tears.

*****

Jesus Christ, the girl is fucking crying! What is she supposed to do now?

 _Nothing, Polastri. Do nothing. Let her cry_. She came in here all cocky and sarcastic and full of smart-assed remarks and defied dress codes; fucking her bunkmate on day one (after fucking a superior officer to even get out of basic), so she really doesn’t deserve any pity. Eve steels herself and barks at the girl again. “Go!”

She watches Oksana take heaving breaths and turn around and start running. It’s slow, it’s incredibly slow, but she doesn’t take issue because the girl _is_ running.

Oksana keeps that same pace through all five laps, and when she presents herself at the end of it she’s no longer crying and it’s no longer raining. Eve’s not even sure it’s still Monday, for fuck’s sake, this has taken so long.

Oksana looks like she wants approval; needs approval. Eve can’t give it to her. “Change into a fresh uniform and report for the evening meal.”

*****

Villanelle is humiliated at having cried in front of her CO. And… all she wants when she’s completed her laps is to see pride in the older woman’s eyes, but there isn’t any. She’s summarily dismissed for dinner. She salutes weakly and mutters a halfhearted “yes, Sir,” and returns to her bunk to change into a clean, dry uniform. Before she puts it on, though, she takes a quick shower and washes off her runny makeup, then applies a bit of fresh blush and mascara and a dab of lip gloss so she doesn’t look like she’s been out in the rain for hours.

She gets into her standard uniform, rolls up the sleeves a few times, and puts on a tie. It’s khaki, so it blends, but she likes it. It was a gift from her uncle when she’d told him about joining the service. He knows how much she adores wearing a tie so the gift is special. She throws her hair back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck and makes her way to the mess hall for dinner.

*****

After dinner is a tour of the facilities and they’ve all been ordered to stand at attention out back of the barracks.

Villanelle stands in position like everyone else, cringing inwardly when CO Polastri stops in front of her. Of course her first thought is of crying in front of her superior officer, but she pushes it down and tries to focus.

“Twenty push-ups, now,” her CO says, “and then make yourself look like every other soldier here.”

Villanelle can’t help the way her face scrunches up at both being called a soldier and the idea of doing push-ups. But she knows better by now than to argue, and she drops down, completing the assigned regimen with only slight difficulty on the last few. Her arms ache when she pops back up and she rolls her sleeves down to match everyone else’s uniforms. She can’t believe she’s just been made to do twenty push-ups for having rolled-up sleeves.

CO Polastri is still staring at her. “The tie.”

Villanelle glances down at her tie with wide eyes, then back up to her CO. “This is a gift from my uncle… he gave it to me for basic--”

“Did I ask you where it came from?” CO Polastri interrupts her in a barking voice that startles her to silence.

“No, but--”

“Twenty more push-ups.”

When Villanelle doesn’t move quickly enough, she’s snapped at.

“Now!”

She drops down again, having difficulty now after the fifth or sixth push-up, and it takes her considerably longer to complete the requisite amount. Her arms don’t just ache anymore, they burn, and she gets back to her feet, taking off the tie and tucking it carefully into her fatigues. She feels empty without it, like the one piece of home she’d brought with her had been taken away. She hates it here.

“The next time you show up out of uniform, the entire company will be doing your push-ups,” CO Polastri says loudly. “Do you copy, Private?”

Villanelle’s cheeks go hot and she doesn’t dare look around at anyone. She nods that she understands.

Her CO gets right in her face for the second time tonight and yells at her. “I said, do you copy, Private?!”

Villanelle jumps a little and forces out a verbal answer through clenched teeth. “Yes, I get it.”

She realizes yet another mistake when CO Polastri’s eyes go wide at her answer. “Since Private Astankova cannot seem to follow protocol when addressing a superior officer, all of you may now run five laps before we proceed with the tour!”

“No!” Villanelle protests desperately, on the verge of tears again as everyone else doesn’t even hesitate taking off at a run toward the field. “That’s not--I didn’t--”

“MOVE IT!”

She keeps her head down as she runs, and at least she gets through the laps without stopping this time, even if she’s still the last one finished because she started a minute after the others.

When they are all back in formation, CO Polastri addresses her again with the same question. “The next time you show up out of uniform, the entire company will be doing your push-ups. Do you copy, Private?”

Villanelle is not going to fuck it up for everyone again. “Yes, Sir!” she says loudly, and even gives a salute.

*****

When Eve lies in bed that night, she, as usual, thinks of her failed marriage. Thinks of all of the time she wasted in that relationship. Her thoughts drift to Gemma. Another product of that failed marriage. At least she got _something_ out of it. While fucking Gemma wasn’t entirely enjoyable for her physically, the act of revenge, punishment, and the feeling of spite that coursed through her veins as her fingers drove into her made every bit of the last years of her and Niko’s marriage worth it. Especially the look on Niko’s face when he realized that his ex-wife got his current off in a way he never could.

And then a tie floats into her thoughts. It’s sudden. Unwelcome. A khaki tie. A smirk. Green, hazel eyes. Eyes that tear up. Eyes that look at her a certain way. With something underneath the fear, intimidation, and respect. There’s something else. 

She grabs for the tie. Pulls at it. Wraps her fingers tightly around it. Pulling what it attaches to towards her. 

She buries her face into her pillow as her fingers find herself. Wet from the thought of it. The thought of a tie. Absolutely not the green eyes that look at her from head to toe whenever they can. Eve tries to will that sight out of her mind. But when it flashes in her, her fingers feel better against her. They move faster. Her hips jerk into her hand on their own accord. 

And when she cries out as she comes on her own hand, only those hazel, green eyes remain.

*****

Villanelle wakes with a jump. She’s sweating. Ashleigh lays lazily around her. She unwraps herself from Ashleigh and turns her on her side. Away from herself. After their nighttime activities, Ashleigh had been falling asleep. Staying the night. Not entirely planned on Villanelle’s side. Villanelle prefers to sleep alone. But, she’s so lonely, that she welcomes anything warm beside her. On top of her. Inside of her. Anything to feel full of something.

Villanelle knows this ceiling. She knows it like the back of her hand by now. She’s stared at it enough. Sleepless nights. While Ashleigh pins her down to her mattress and puts her mouth on her. Even then, she stares at it.

Her thoughts drift to something that they shouldn't. Threatening. Taunting. But its starting to feel like comfort. It's starting to give her something to look forward to every day. She feels accomplished. Like she's working towards something. And she just wants the recognition that her hard work should come with. Should elicit from her CO. But, she gets nothing. Just anger. A blank face. And even that is starting to feel comforting because its expected. Unsurprising. A routine. 

Villanelle is snapped out of her thoughts at the feeling of her own fingers. Coated in her own warmth. She has to bite down on her bottom lip to remain silent as she lets her body react. 

_What is wrong with her_? 

Is this what does it for her? Feeling unworthy? Feeling unaccepted by everyone and everything around her? Being yelled at, demeaned, feeling small around her peers?

Her CO’s face clouds her vision as her fingers become relentless. And she cant stop it. She cant stop how good this feels. How normal this feels. She cant help the noises that escape her now. 

Villanelle removes her hand and rolls Ashleigh back towards her. Ashleigh stirs and then gasps as she feels Villanelle climb on top of her. Villanelle situates their thighs together perfectly. And continues.

Ashleigh is more than willing to participate. “Oh, wow.”

Villanelle wishes she wouldn’t talk. She shuts her eyes to focus on what is making her feel this way. Her face. Her words. The way her CO makes her feel.

“Fuck!”

Villanelle jerks once more against Ashleigh's thigh and rolls off immediately to come in peace. To stare back at the ceiling as her climax rolls over her and disappears as soon as it had appeared. Sweat drips from the base of her skull and down the nape of her neck. She groans in frustration as her thoughts remain. Never quite reaching the feeling of completely satiated.

“Oh. Okay. I wasn’t done, but that’s fine.”

Villanelle turns on her side. Away from the voice that threatens to cloud what she sees. What she needs to see in this moment. 

Tomorrow is going to be awkward.

*****

Villanelle can’t get CO Polastri off her mind, so she breaks into the office and searches until she finds the right file.

Eve. Her first name is Eve.

Somehow this knowledge makes Villanelle feel closer to _Eve_ , even though she’s stolen it. She hugs the file to her chest and closes her eyes, imagining any look on Eve’s face other than disappointment. God, it fills her with so much longing, the way Eve looks at her. Longing for approval, for the slightest hint of _something_.

She puts the file back and is stepping out of the office… and literally bumps into her CO. Her eyes go wide, because it is the middle of the night, and what is Eve doing here in the middle of the night? Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Fuck. This wasn’t going to get her laps, this was going to get her thrown out of the service. “I just--”

“Shut up,” Eve interrupts, and there’s that disapproval in her eyes; the constant, simmering disdain.

She hates it and loves it. Because she wants Eve’s approval, but at least with this, she knows that Eve isn’t indifferent to her. Eve does feel some type of way. It’s just not a good way.

Villanelle tries not to speak but she can’t do it. “Please don’t kick m--”

“I said shut up.”

There’s a tense moment of silence between them and then Eve forces her back into the office with a hand around her bicep and kicks the back of her knees with a booted foot, sending her down to them with a thud.

“Don’t fucking move.”

Villanelle can’t even breathe as she hears receding footsteps, so she certainly has no plans to move. What is going on? Why is she on her knees? Where is Eve going?

She’s not sure how long she waits, but when she hears footsteps approaching she looks over her shoulder just in time to see Eve hold out a toothbrush.

“If this floor isn’t sparkling by the time I get back, you can pack your bags.”

Villanelle takes the toothbrush, in shock. She wants to ask ‘what?’ but she knows she heard correctly and she doesn’t want Eve to think she’s stupid on top of everything else. She stares at the toothbrush, then at the floor in front of her, and finally looks up at Eve. “Where is the cleanser?”

“There is none.”

“How am I supposed to make this floor shine without cleanser?”

She thinks she sees something flicker across Eve’s face for the slightest of seconds, but it’s too fleeting to be sure. “Use your spit.”

*****

Eve walks away quickly after that and doesn’t stop until she’s in the officers’ mess. She leans against the door and breathes, running her hands over her face. What the fuck is she doing? She can’t have Oksana spit-shining her floor with a toothbrush for fuck’s sake! Nowhere in the regulations does it say that is an acceptable punishment. She should have sent the girl packing.

So why didn’t she? Now she has to think about it. It’s not because of last night’s… indiscretional fantasy. It can’t be that. So why doesn’t she want Oksana gone? The girl has literally just _broken into her office_. Any other recruit would be on the next plane out. But instead of an official writeup, she had the genius idea to make Oksana scrub the floor on her hands and knees. Nice, Eve. Nice.

She stands there for a few more minutes and then makes a sandwich, sits at one of the tables to eat it, and tries to reflect.

Why doesn’t she want Oksana to go? Admittedly, the girl has been a pain in the ass. But then… Eve sees something in her. Something to be treasured but at the same time mercilessly exploited. A vulnerability; a desperate need for approval; a blinding desire to be noticed. To be appreciated. To be wanted. She thinks that maybe Oksana’s never fit in anywhere before and that’s why the girl had ended up here. And that is the case with a lot of recruits, but not in the same way as Oksana. It’s different. Eve doesn’t know how it’s different, but it is.

She wants to be the one to finally give that approval. But Oksana’s going to have to work really fucking hard to earn it.

So she finishes her sandwich and makes sure she doesn’t return to her office until the girl has had plenty of time to finish her task. Spit shining is tedious work, and not fast, either. Not with that toothbrush. But she wants to foster success. So she waits. Hours.

It’s been about four hours she’s sat in the mess, reading a novel on her phone. She’s moved tables so she’s near an outlet, because her phone might hold a charge all day, but not if she’s using it four hours straight. Four hours should be enough time. The office isn’t that big. She packs her charger into the cargo pocket on her right leg and slips her phone into her right front pocket, then wanders back to the office.

Her stomach drops when she sees the shining floor, and Oksana on her knees in the middle of the room. Oh, fuck. She’s instantly wet. She keeps her reaction carefully hidden from hawk-like eyes, or at least she hopes she does. She makes a show of looking around, checking corners and grout lines and crevices, but there is not a single thing she can find fault with.

She won’t tell Oksana good job. “On your feet.”

Oksana gets up with obvious discomfort and stands at attention.

She does, however, let the disapproval fade from her gaze and be replaced by something less acrid. Not yet approval, not indifference, but something akin to acceptability. That Oksana is currently acceptable. “Go to bed. If you break into anything else, you’re gone. Dismissed.”

*****

Villanelle is shaking as she walks back to her dormitory. Her hands ache, her knees ache, her back aches… almost everything aches, and she feels weak and tired and hungry. But she’d seen something new in Eve’s eyes tonight. Well, this morning, actually, because it’s four am. She’d seen the disapproval fade away just a little and had gotten the tiniest glimpse of something on the more neutral side of positive. Acceptable, maybe. That she’d done an acceptable job. Which should piss her off, really, because her throat is dry as a bone from using up all of her spit to clean the floor, and her work had been impeccable; pristine; perfect. Not acceptable.

But it doesn’t piss her off. It catches her soul on fire. It twists her belly and wets her cunt. Because Eve has found her _acceptable_.

*****

“And how are you enjoying your time there, Villanelle?”

Villanelle sits on the back steps of her dorm building. It’s a private area. Not a lot of foot traffic. She has an hour before she has to meet with her platoon for firearm training. This is the only thing Villanelle looked forward to when she chose to go into this profession - the weapons. And she’s a good shot. Her father and Konstantin taught her how to shoot, how to take care of and respect her weapon. One of the few things she’s good at and respected for.

She takes a long drag of her borrowed cigarette. She isn’t a smoker. Never has been. Sometimes when she drank she would bum one off of whoever she slept with that night. But, after last night and this morning, she needs it. She'd stumbled upon another private secretly smoking and took one from them. 

“I’m hating my time here, Konstantin. Thanks for asking.”

Konstantin’s bellow rings in her ear. She hates it. It’s so smug. Taunting. 

Villanelle takes another drag, chokes a little bit on the smoke, and blows the rest out before inhaling. “The only good thing about this place is the women.”

“Behave, Villanelle. This could be good for you! You need the discipline. You--” Konstantin’s voice is cut off by another’s. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Private?”

 _Eve_. 

Villanelle watches wide eyed as Eve approaches from the side of the building. She drops her phone in shock. The cigarette fumbles in her other hand as she tries to throw it. But, it’s stuck between her fingers. _Fuck_. She gives up with a sigh. And then has to move her gaze away from Eve. Because the way she’s looking at Villanelle right now makes Villanelle’s heart race beneath her ribs. “I’m smoking, Sir.” She braces herself for the worst. She closes her eyes tightly. Waiting for the expletives and degradation to be flung at her. Instead, she feels something near her fingers. 

Her eyes fly open and her head turns to glance at Eve. Who is reaching for her cigarette, pulling it to her own mouth, and taking a long drag. Without breaking eye contact. 

Villanelle can’t breathe. Not because she’s afraid. But because she wants Eve. The act of sharing a cigarette, to her, is intimate. And Eve’s lips around it. She feels the arousal crash over her. It cements her in place. 

Eve blows out. Passes the cigarette back to Villanelle. She slides it in between Villanelle’s still parted fingers. Who hasn’t moved her hand at all. She couldn’t. It stays in place. 

“I used to smoke. Years ago. It’s a nasty habit.”

Villanelle stares with her mouth open. She wills herself to close it. But she can’t. She’s gaping. And it’s embarrassing. 

“You should quit.”

Villanelle should probably speak soon. Move her mouth. Stop gaping and maybe blink her eyelids a few times. She clears her throat. “Yeah. I don’t smoke usually. I just had a rough night... and morning.”

Eve reaches for it again. Brushes her fingers lightly against Villanelles. Villanelle has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep calm. 

When she hands it back to Villanelle, she turns to walk away. Calling out behind her. “Oh. And you will have laps for that.”

Villanelle has to hold the laugh in her chest as she watches Eve walk away. But the smile on her lips, she can’t hold back. 

_"Villanelle_?"

She hears it coming from her feet. She flicks the cigarette from her fingers. Successfully this time. And grabs her phone that lays face down by the foot of the steps. She clears her throat as she holds it up to her ear. Konstantin’s voice hits her with smugness.

“Is that the _‘women’_ you were referring to earlier?”

Villanelle laughs. “Yes. She is the _‘women’_.”

*****

Eve hates the taste of cigarette in her mouth. And she hates the taste of that interaction even more. She used to smoke. Years ago. Niko begged her to stop for months when they first started dating. She started smoking out of spite at that point. That should’ve been a red flag.

She makes her way towards the field at the far end of the base. Today will start the 3 weeks of firearm training her group will go through. She doesn’t expect much at first. There’s usually one person that misfires their weapon. There’s always a person that thinks they know what they’re doing, but ends up hitting their neighbors mark instead. And there’s always a few that cry. Those are her favorite ones. The criers. 

Her thoughts drift to Oksana. Her lips wrapped around a cigarette. Her long, slender fingers failing to flick it away in fear. Oksana in the middle of her office floor. On her knees. Her floors glistening in perfection. Eve bites the inside of her cheek and trudges forward. 

She shouldn't have approached Oksana. She should’ve yelled from a distance. Threatened... from a distance. Eve is beginning to realize that her body reacts in an unwanted way around the girl. And she’s not sure why. She’s dealt with people like Oksana before.

Cocky - _check_. A cry baby - _check_. Dramatic - _check_. Attractive - _check_.

Things she’s dealt with. No issues before. There is something else that pulls Eve to her. And she cant put her finger on it. She’s not sure if she should even try to put her finger on it. 

As she closes in on the field, Eve spots her. Her arm slung over Ashleigh’s shoulders as they talk to others in their cohort. Eve swallows the sick that rises in her throat at the sight of Oksana. Not of Oksana herself. But the sight of Oksana’s touch on someone else's skin. As if it should belong only to Eve. As if Eve should be the only one who receives that. 

The anger rises and replaces the sick feeling. “Private Astankova! Laps. Now!”

Oksana’s eyes go wide at her approach and volume. She doesn’t hesitate. She leans down to tighten the shoelaces of her boots, and takes off. 

_She’s gotten in shape_ , Eve thinks. She leans against a target in the middle of the field to watch Oksana. Her long legs find the perfect pace, her heels hit lightly against the damp dirt beneath them, her arms swing her fists at chest level, her eyes dart to Eve’s when she passes the front of her. And Eve can’t look away.

She calls to the others over her shoulder. “Everyone else, get your weapons cleaned and ready.”

When she has seen enough, and the murmurs from the other privates start to get louder behind her, she calls for Oksana to stop and get her gun ready.

And when Oksana walks past her, hands on her hips, her heavy breaths hitting the air between them, their eyes meet. Eve has to look away when she speaks. “You’re already behind.”

Oksana nods. “Sorry, Sir. I’ll be quick.”

*****

As the other privates begin their lesson with the firearm instructor, Eve watches Oksana clean her weapon on the sidelines. She needs no direction. She does it properly and does it carefully. She takes her time. And it shocks Eve to see it. 

From what she’s seen from Oksana in the past, doing things properly and carefully from the get go isn’t her style. She can be reckless, rude, rushed. It’s obvious Oksana has been taught and knows what she’s doing when it comes to firearm care. 

_But can she shoot?_ _Probably not_ , Eve thinks. And she can't wait to see it. It might help her with this sick feeling she’s having. Watching Oksana falter. Fail. Make a fool of herself. 

She watches Oksana hit mark after mark. She could’ve done it with her eyes closed, Eve’s hands over her eyes, turned around facing the other direction. 

Eve mutters under her breath as the firearm instructor laughs and pats Oksana on the back after she hits her last mark. “Son of a bitch.”

Oksana is soon surrounded by her peers. And in the midst of their congratulations, Oksana’s smile falters when she meets Eve’s eyes. She breaks apart from her group and makes a beeline sprint towards Eve. 

Eve keeps herself still. Shows no emotion as her body reacts beneath her skin at Oksana’s approach. 

Oksana skids to a halt in front of her. Her bright white teeth gleam in the sunlight. “Did you see that?”

Eve nods. Arms crossed over her chest. “I did.”

Oksana’s smile disappears. She rests her hands on her hips and looks at Eve expectantly. “And? What did you think?”

Eve clears her throat while she thinks carefully about her next words. She doesn’t want to tell Oksana what she truly thinks about her performance. That would sound weak. But she needs to throw a bone to Oksana. Just once. Eve’s tired of seeing her tear up, tired of hearing the solemn in her voice. She wants to see the smile that she just saw from a distance in front of her. Just once. “You did well.”

She flinches as Oksana drops to her knees in front of her. 

She darts her eyes around to see if anyone is watching this. Everyone is disarming and caring for their weapons. No one's eyes are on them at the moment. But Eve whispers in her shock when she looks down at the back of Oksana’s head. “What the fuck are you doing? Get up.”

Oksana’s fingers touch the tips of her boots. She looks up from Eve’s feet. Tears in her eyes. 

_Still with the tears._

“You said I did well. I don’t know why I reacted this way.”

Eve can’t breathe. The sight of Oksana on her knees. The light pressure of Oksana’s fingertips on the front of her boots. “Get up, now. _Please_ , Oksana.”

Oksana gasps. 

Eve almost slaps herself in the mouth when Oksana’s name rolls off of her tongue instead of _‘Private’_.

Oksana moves her hands. She wraps her fingers around Eve’s ankles. Her grip firm. Her eyes brim with something other than tears. And it burns into Eve.

Eve breaks her gaze from Oksana. She looks up to see some of the cohort starting to trickle away from the field in their exit. And then she sees Ashleigh. Staring at the both of them from a distance.

Ashleigh starts to make her way towards them. 

Eve whispers louder through clenched teeth when she glances back down at Oksana. “Get the _fuck_ up.” She kicks one of her ankles out of Oksana’s grip. 

Oksana blinks slowly, as if she is waking herself out of a trance. She removes her other hand from Eve’s ankle. Standing to brush the damp dirt from her knees. She sniffles before she speaks. “I’m sorry.”

Eve leans into the space between them as Ashleigh now calls out for Oksana as she closes in. “My office. One hour. We’ll discuss this then.”

*****

Eve is pacing the office when Oksana knocks on the open door, and she stops; looks. Oksana seems nervous. Good. She should be fucking nervous after pulling a stunt like that. “Come in. Close and lock the door and get back on your knees.”

She watches Oksana comply. Watches a shaking hand click the deadbolt. Watches the girl slowly turn toward her and sink to her knees without questioning.

It sets Eve’s mind on fire. Now that they’re alone, she can fully appreciate the sight of Private Astankova kneeling at her feet. And God, what a sight it is. Because Oksana has gone from an undisciplined miscreant to an obedient, eager-to-please little soldier with shined boots and a pressed uniform, no tie, no rolled-up sleeves, not a hair out of place in either of her two tight french braids that make her look younger than she is. “Let’s get something straight.”

Oksana keeps her head bowed and Eve likes that a lot. “Yes, Sir?”

“The only place you drop to your knees is in this fucking office. Are we clear, Private?”

Still her little head stays bowed. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was--”

“Yes or no!” Eve barks, watching her jump.

Oksana takes a shuddering breath. “Yes, Sir.” Eve can tell she wants to say more, but she’s trying too hard to be good; she won’t disobey. Eve knows this.

Eve steps closer. She doesn’t show it, but her heart is racing and her panties are soaked. “The only place you touch my boots is in this fucking office. Are we clear, Private?”

Another shudder. “Yes, Sir.”

*****

Villanelle is so wet and needy and shaky and disoriented at this point that she doesn’t know what to do with herself. If Eve doesn’t touch her soon she is going to fall apart. Being told she can go to her knees in this office and touch Eve’s boots in this office? All she takes from it is the fact she’s allowed to go to her knees and touch Eve’s boots. Her hands are moving without her permission, fingertips fluttering over the shiny black leather before she can think better of doing it. But they are in the office, so she thinks she is allowed.

“Hey!” Eve shouts, and she jerks her hands back, folding them in front of her, finally daring to look up at Eve’s face, afraid of what she’ll see.

She loses her breath at the heat in Eve’s eyes. It’s what she’s been waiting for; yearning for; working so hard for. Her mouth falls open and her cheeks heat up, and she has to drop her hands to her sides now because they’re sweating and it doesn’t feel good to have them clasped together. She wipes her palms on her pants and prays for Eve to touch her, even if it hurts.

*****

Eve is pretty sure that Oksana can read her eyes. So there’s no use pretending she doesn’t want the girl. “Your pathetic display out on the firearms course today could have cost me my career. Is that what you want? You want me to get shipped off to some remote country on land surveillance detail? You trying to get rid of me, Private?”

The tears again. Jesus Christ.

“No, Sir,” Oksana says, her voice choked up. “Never. I want--I want you.”

“You want me?” Eve sneers. “You think you’ve behaved well enough to have me?”

“Today, no, but--but--” Oksana stammers, wiping her hands on her pants again. “But I’ve been trying so hard the last few months, I--I’ve done everything you said even when I didn’t understand the reason for it and I haven’t questioned you, Sir, and I’ve been really really good.”

Eve likes the breathy quality to the girl’s voice and wants to hear more. “Tell me more about being good. Why?”

“May I _please_ touch your boots, Sir?” Oksana asks, and Eve can see her hands twitching at her sides and hear the desperation in her voice and it’s wonderful.

“Not yet. Tell me why you’ve been being so good.”

Oksana’s gasp hits her straight in the clit and she’s grateful for the thick army fatigues between her cunt and the girl’s face. It’s such a beautiful face, especially in moments like these, flushed and innocent with wide green eyes staring up at her, hanging on every tiny motion or movement. “Because I--”

“Full sentence.”

*****

Villanelle is so turned on she’s surprised she can even get words out. Her eyelids flutter and she starts again. “I have been being so good because I want you to--to--to think I’m worth something.” She says the last part in a rush because it’s embarrassing, but it’s the truest truth she can find within herself and she doesn’t want to lie to Eve. Not here, not now.

She shuffles forward and holds in a whine when Eve steps back. “Why do you want me to think you’re worth something? Your sense of worth should come from inside yourself.”

Oksana’s brows furrow. “What? No. I do not think I am worth anything at all.”

“Oksana!”

She hears the slap before she feels it, and tears spring to her eyes, a whimper forced from her throat.

*****

Shit. She shouldn’t have done that. She steps forward and cups the stinging skin with the same hand that delivered the blow. “Shh,” she says at the whimper. “You won’t say things like that about yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a very clear order. “You _have_ worked hard the last few months. Hard enough that I’ve noticed. I don’t let you see my pride because--”

Oksana wails and wraps her arms around Eve’s thighs, burying her face in them. The girl is shaking like a leaf.

Before she realizes she’s doing it, Eve’s hand is stroking Oksana’s head. “You get a lot of disapproval from all of the people in your life, don’t you?” she asks softly.

Villanelle can only nod. So, so much disapproval from everyone she’s ever cared about.

“And you don’t get much approval, do you?”

“None,” Villanelle chokes out.

“Stand up.”

“I--I don’t know if I can…”

Instead of being harsh, Eve continues the gentle approach. “Try.” She wants to see Oksana struggle, but this time… she wants to be the one to help her succeed. She tugs on Oksana’s hair.

Villanelle starts to get up, legs shaking, and when she’s standing in front of Eve she’s torn between keeping her eyes on the floor or looking at her CO.

“Good girl,” Eve breathes, and she almost regrets having said it because Oksana drops back down to her knees with a thud.

Villanelle is… she’s… she’s fucking crying is what she’s doing. She’s kneeling and crying and embarrassed, but something has jarred loose inside her at finally hearing someone call her good. Anyone, she would have accepted it from anyone, but it’s so much more powerful because it’s Eve. She has never wanted anyone the way she wants Eve.

Eve realizes in that moment just how deep Oksana’s needs really go. Sure, she’d thought the girl was starved for attention and affection and approval, but this? This is serious. This is a psychological minefield and she needs to be careful. Too much praise all at once and Oksana might break in a bad way. “This is not what I asked of you,” she says a bit harshly. “Get the fuck up.”

Villanelle shudders and gets back to her feet, the harsh words penetrating and calming her frayed nerves. She wants the kindness; the gentle; the approval, but can she handle them? Now she’s not so sure.

“You know I have to punish you for that display in the yard, right?” Eve asks, her voice less sharp but not quite soft.

She watches Oksana’s eyes widen even as the girl nods her head.

“And if you argue about your punishment it’ll be very bad for you, Private.”

Villanelle chokes on her words in her rush to get them out. “I will not argue, Sir.” Every nerve in her body is alight and vibrating. She has never felt so alive… or so terrified.

Eve really, really likes the choked quality to Oksana’s voice. She’s fucking drenched and they’re only just getting started. “You are going to remove your boots, socks, trousers and underpants and sit on that chair.” She points to the chair across from her desk where all of the recruits sit when they have meetings or check-ins.

When Oksana seems to be waiting for something, Eve snaps at her.

“Now!”

Villanelle jumps, leaning down to untie her boots. “I’m sorry!” she blurts out, flustered and frantic to obey. Her fingers get caught in the laces and she tugs them all wrong and her hands are too shaky and she whines out loud, on the verge of a breakdown.

Eve bends down and grabs Oksana’s hands, squeezing them together between her own. “Breathe.”

Villanelle tries. It doesn’t help.

Eve keeps hold of her hands. “Breathe,” she says again. But she thinks Oksana is too wrecked, so she lets go and unties the boots for her, then loosens the laces.

Villanelle kicks out of the boots and pulls off her socks and stands up, but now she has the battle of belt buckle and trousers to get undone with shaking fingers and it’s just so overwhelming. “Please,” she says, eyes searching Eve’s for compassion.

And Eve knows. She just knows. So she undoes Oksana’s belt and trousers and lowers the zip. But that’s as far as she’s going; the girl needs to do the rest. She steps back.

Villanelle pushes her trousers down and steps out of them, standing in her uniform jacket and army-issue underpants. She hesitates with her thumbs hooked under the waistband, but when Eve’s eyes harden again she quickly drags them down her legs and steps out of them, too. She almost forgets what she’s supposed to do next but she remembers the word _chair_ and turns, walking brusquely over to sit down.

Eve watches the tense way Oksana sits. This is going to be a challenge.

She walks over and drags the chair away from the desk, turning it to face the center of the room, then lets go and puts her hands on Oksana’s knees. She slowly lifts each one, draping the girl’s legs over the arms of the chair so she’s spread wide and exposed. “Because you could have gotten me fired today by behaving like a needy, spoiled little shit, you are being punished.”

Villanelle can scarcely breathe. What is Eve going to do? Hit her? Hurt her? She’s afraid of it and desperate for it at the same time.

“You are going to sit in this chair, just like this, and masturbate.”

Her CO’s words nearly break her.

“You are going to make yourself come while I stand back and film it.”

Villanelle doesn’t know how to classify the sound of despair she makes. “Sir, please... I--I need _you…_ ”

Eve takes out her phone, checks her battery level which is thankfully fine, and opens up the camera. She switches it to video and clicks record. Oksana keeps talking.

“Please touch me, Sir… please don’t make me touch myself… I need you so badly. Please, I’ll never misbehave again, I promise. On my life, I promise.”

Eve is obviously unmoved by the pleas. She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even move.

Villanelle’s eyes are full of tears again because she just wants Eve so fucking badly she can’t stand it, and yet she can’t have her. She knows she’s just promised never to misbehave, but she doesn’t know if she can actually do this. With anyone else, it would be fine. She has gotten herself off loads of times in front of loads of people. This is different. This is punishment; objectification. This is _Eve_. Eve, whom she wants to please so badly. Eve, to whom she wants to prove that she can handle being called a good girl without falling to her knees. But to prove that, she’ll have to be good again, and to be good again, she’ll have to take her punishment. So she closes her eyes and moves her right hand between her legs.

Eve’s throat closes up when Oksana finally moves, but she’ll be damned if this video is going to be wobbly so she makes sure that _she_ holds perfectly still. Perfectly still while she watches a slender finger dip into obvious wetness. Perfectly still while she watches that same finger disappear inside the girl. Perfectly still while Oksana’s hips instinctively chase her hand. She wants to bury her face in that wide open cunt more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life, but she holds perfectly still.

Villanelle bites her lip and tries to pretend she’s not being filmed. She wants to make it good for Eve to watch. She circles her finger and presses her forewall and moans, leaning her head back on the top of the chair. There’s not much she can do with her lower half because of the way Eve has her legs draped, but she can squirm to show Eve how good it feels. And it does, it feels really good once she lets herself enjoy it. She’s always liked touching herself and she’s always been a master at it, and if she wanted to she could get herself off in under five minutes and get this over with. But she finds, now that she’s started, she wants to draw it out. Maybe she can make Eve want her the way she wants Eve. It’s unlikely, but the possibility is enough to get her to try.

Eve notices the very second things go from punishment to seduction, and she won’t have it. “You have two minutes or you’re dismissed. And if you fake it, I’ll know.”

“Eve!” Villanelle shouts in frustration, hating that her CO is always one step ahead of her. She moves her fingers to her clit and starts rubbing, brow furrowed into a frown even with her eyes closed.

Eve is momentarily stunned, and then her voice is low and dangerous. “What the fuck did you just call me, Private Astankova?”

“Sir!” Villanelle corrects herself, far too late. “Sir! I meant Sir!” She’s still rubbing, still aware of her time limit, and somehow Eve’s disdain and that dangerous voice push her toward the edge; help her along. She’s panting now, rubbing faster, making circles with two fingers and pressing, pressing, pressing, and when she opens her eyes to look at Eve and sees the intensity focused back at her, she comes with a cry.

Eve watches Oksana’s hips jerk and hears that little cry, and it’s perfect. She ends the video, locks her keys, and pockets her phone. “Get the fuck up out of that chair and stand at attention, Private.” She doesn’t let her overwhelming desire take root in her voice.

Villanelle groans and carefully lifts her legs from their splayed position, then groans again at the soreness on her thighs where the arms of the chair had dug in. She puts her feet on the floor and uses her arms to help her stand, and she’s so close she can smell Eve’s shampoo and feel Eve’s breath on her face. She stands at attention.

“Is that what you wanted from my file?” Eve asks, leaning forward to put her lips to Oksana’s ear. “My _name_?”

“Yes, Sir,” Villanelle says, staring at a spot over Eve’s shoulder.

“You broke into my office and risked getting discharged from the service because you wanted my _name_?”

It sounds so pathetic when her CO puts it like that, but it’s no less true. “Yes, Sir.”

Eve kisses the shell of her ear, just a feather of a touch, and her stance falters. She quickly gets back into position, heart racing, wetness threatening to drip from her soaking cunt. God… Eve’s lips… just touched her. Just touched her skin. Her ear. It’s too much. 

“I’m gonna need you naked and bent over the desk, Private. You can earn the privilege of calling me Eve when my entire fist is inside your cunt. Understood?”

“Wha--” Villanelle’s entire world comes crashing into a pinpoint of focus, which is the idea of getting to earn her way to a first-name basis. “Yes!” she gasps. “Yes, Sir, please…” Her body is thrumming and now she can hardly wait. Her jacket feels suddenly oppressive and she sheds it like a second skin, not caring where it lands. Her beater comes next in similar fashion, and then her bra. “Now, Sir? Bend over now?”

Eve watches with hooded eyes, a steady pulse between her legs directing her thoughts, feelings and speech. “Yes. Now.”

She watches the girl walk the few paces to the desk and bend herself over it. Almost in a trance, she follows, and has to shake herself out of it before she lays hands on Oksana.

“How wet are you?”

Oksana groans and grabs the opposite edge of the desk. “Very wet, Sir.”

“Wet enough for how many fingers to start?”

Villanelle grips the desk harder. Fuck. Eve is going to kill her. “Three, Sir.” She won’t forget to say Sir because if she does, she might say Eve, and she is not going to ruin this chance to be _allowed_ to say Eve.

Eve steps the rest of the way to her and runs fingers up her thighs, and when she feels the hot slick between Oksana’s legs, the sheer amount of it and the degree of heat, she has to do something. So she wraps her left hand around Oksana’s braids and squeezes as three fingers find their way inside the girl’s welcoming cunt. Easily. Too easily. “You said three, Private,” she scolds.

Villanelle whines and presses her hips back. “I thought--I thought I--usually I--please, Sir, I’m sorry… I thought three was right.”

“You must do a lot of fucking to fit me this well,” Eve says, carefully pushing her little finger in alongside the first three. There’s a slight resistance now and she works against it, curling and flexing against Oksana’s inner walls.

Villanelle doesn’t care that it makes her sound promiscuous. “Yes, Sir,” she says immediately, wanting Eve to know she is being honest and accepts her flaws. “Too much, Sir. Fuck. Please.”

Eve most definitely likes hearing Oksana beg. “Please what? And don’t you dare hold back.”

“Please, Sir,” Villanelle whines, writhing over the desk, shifting her weight and turning her head trying to get comfortable. But nothing is comfortable. “Please, I want to take your fist in my cunt. I--I want to be your good girl, Sir, I really, really do. I’ve never wanted to make someone proud the way I want you to be proud of me, not ever. Please, I need you so badly I can barely breathe… I need to take your whole fist so I can earn the privilege of using your name, _please_!”

Oksana sounds truly desperate and Eve is eating it up. Every word out of the girl’s mouth drives her want higher. Before she even realizes it, she’s fucking Oksana pretty damn hard, and Oksana is so, so good at _taking_ it. Everything that’s gone wrong in Eve’s life starts to unravel and fade away from conscious thought, because this girl is fucking perfect, and this girl wants her like no one has wanted her before. “Oksana,” she says, and her voice is almost a hiss. She shifts position so she can press her thumb against her other fingers, and pauses at the second knuckle. “Are you ready for me?”

Villanelle does not even care if it hurts at this point, she’s too far gone. She’s still moving all over the place and trying to find a comfortable position but she can’t, she just can’t, and she needs Eve so fucking much and-- “Yes, Sir, fuck me, please, I’m so ready for you… I want to be your good girl…”

Eve wants to call her a good girl but she can’t yet. Not yet.

She is tender with Oksana when she eases past her knuckles. She is tender when she curls her fingers nice and slow. She is tender when she tucks her thumb inside to make a fist. Oksana is so warm and wet all around her, enveloping her, inviting her to ruin. And when this needy little thing cries out for her and clenches on her fist, she’s done for. The protective cage around her heart is jarred open. “Good girl,” she says, and Oksana comes undone.

Villanelle doesn’t even get the chance to catalogue the feel of Eve’s entire fist inside her before those words make her come. And when her muscles clamp down, she lets out a scream, just for Eve, just like a good girl should, and she shudders across the desk and it hurts a little but it’s so, so much pleasure she can’t take it. “Can I c--can I call you--can I?” Her voice is raspy and weak.

“I hope you’re not asking permission to come, because it’s clearly too fucking late for that,” Eve says, and she can’t help it, she kisses the back of Oksana’s head.

Villanelle holds her breath, because she thinks Eve just made a joke with her, and her chest constricts and won’t let in any more air.

Eve laughs a happy laugh for the first time in a really, really long time, and she gently bites the back of Oksana’s neck. “You earned it. You can call me Eve.”

That almost makes her come again. “Eve,” she moans. “Eve. Eve, Eve, Eve… Even if you had discharged me from the service, it would have been worth it to know your name.”

Eve carefully undoes her fist and inches her hand out, to Oksana’s obvious and groaning displeasure. “Worth it, huh?” She has no idea what this upstart sees in her, but she’ll take it. “By the way… that video?”

Villanelle’s cheeks go hot. “Yes, Eve?”

“If you ever drop to your knees like that outside of this office again? I’ll show that video to Ashleigh.”

*****

Villanelle wakes up the next morning, sore from head to toe. But warm and full. When she gets dressed for the day, she does it alone. She asked Ashleigh for a night off. To think, to appreciate the previous nights events, to feel everything but the empty feeling she still feels with Ashleigh. 

But as she laces up her boots, she feels oddly excited for her day. She hasn’t felt this buzzed in years. 

When Villanelle exits from the back of her dorm, she sees her. At a distance. As if she’s waiting for Villanelle. And when Eve sees her, she pretends to look towards the mess hall. And starts to walk towards it. Slowly. 

Villanelle catches up quickly. She tries not to sprint, but her legs act of their own accord. “Good morning.”

They walk together, in sync, towards breakfast. And Villanelle can’t take her eyes off of Eve. Eve in private. CO Polastri in public. What a reward for good behavior. 

“Good morning, Oksana.”

Eve doesn’t look at her. She keeps her eyes at their moving feet. But her hand brushes against Villanelle’s. And Villanelle fights to pull them to a stop. Pull Eve to her. 

But this is more fun, isn’t it?

“I like the way my name sounds when you say it, Eve.”

Eve looks up at her briefly. A small smile on her lips. She grazes Villanelle’s palm with her fingertips. “And I like the way my name sounds when you say it, Oksana.”


End file.
